Prison is Cold
by Tempest-Slash
Summary: Prison is cold, but separating makes it colder. Just share the stupid bed, and you'll have some warmth. Even if you're a prude. Jailshipping- Folly/Trudly shounen-ai. Clean. One-shot. Only T for homophobes.


"Hey, Folly?" I heard from the floor. It was my turn to sleep in the cot tonight, but Lugia I knew it was cold. I knew he was shivering; I may have the bed and a blanket, but I gave him everything else to assist and he was still cold- probably as cold as I was. We had originally had two beds, but they had to spread to other prisoners. We were expected to share or do as we had been- kick someone out on the floor.

"Hm…?" I replied drowsily, having just been in half a doze.

"Do you think we could just…I don't know, we…" he sighed, getting into a crouch on his haunches and looking up at me. I should've known where this was going and put an end to it, but I was too unconsciously awake. Scratching my head, remembering how I couldn't style my hair anymore so it had ended up falling into a messy bedhead of plain blonde, and had lately began comparing it to Trudly's, since his had faded back to brunette from the blonde he had dyed it.

"Trudly…just spit it out…" I murmured, rubbing my eyes a little to try and wake up, and disinterestedly noticed he was blushing somewhere in the back of my head.

"I know we're both really cold. Would it be so bad to share this once?" he was looking everywhere but me, and I eyed the cot slowly, trying to form a thought. I knew we hadn't really _decided_ on not sharing, but we hadn't said no either. And it was really fucking cold. Maybe we were just prude enough to not want to have to touch each other or have to admit we shared a bed, since there is no way to clarify that we did so without getting at least one 'that's what she said'.

"Get your ass in here, Trudly," I muttered, yawning and closing my eyes as he disassembled the makeshift sleeping place of two pillows and the extra blanket, creeping in next to me and settling the bed. It was now at least neutral temperature, and he was trying so hard to not get anywhere near me that I had a clear-headed moment and smiled at his embarrassment. Flipping so that I was facing him, disregarding the fact that he might scream 'rape' or something, I cuddled up into his back, falling again into a drunk-like exhausted stupor. I knew he was screeching in his head in horror something along the lines of 'oh my _Arceus_ he's spooning me ew gross', but he was silent. Eventually I even managed to embrace him from behind without him squalling like an ashamed teenager who just had his parents showing off his baby pictures.

"Folly," he complained though, when our bodies aligned so that every aspect that could was touching. What's up with him? It's freakin' _warm_ now, and I'm not even doing anything humiliatingly sexual, I'm just hugging him.

"Shut up. I'm warm and there's nothing keeping me from it. Don't pretend you don't like it," I slurred in a half-asleep grumble, gently pulling him even closer. The region near my head faintly got hotter; he was blushing again.

"I like the _warmth_. Quit touching me," he hissed, but made no move to get away, a half-hearted threat. This time I got serious, propping myself up on one elbow and leaning over him.

"The warmth is _because_ I'm touching you, dumbass, it's called body heat," he glared upward at me, and we had a leering contest for about a minute, when I won and he avoided my eyes. I heaved a sigh, and tried to work this out in my head. First, he's mortified that he's freezing enough that he dares ask to share the bed with me. Second, he's desperate enough for the warmth that he stays there. Third, he complains once he's warm only because _I'm touching him_. _Oh no_. Fourth, he had blushed like, forty times already. Fifth, he got flustered when _I_ wanted the heat too and went to get it myself. This all adds up to some chick flick where there's some love one person doesn't understand and he has to share a…_oh_.

I mentally slapped myself. Well, I mentally told myself off, I'd rather not slap myself in any form. Trudly had gone back to attempting to sleep, and experimentally, I sat one hand on his shoulder. He didn't move, but he didn't answer. "Trudly?" I whispered, just as one usually would while talking in prison. He grunted in reply. "Look at me,"

Trudly shifted irritably, rolling over. He blinked, and I sternly gave a look that said 'stay still' and weighed my options. One, I could ask him. This wasn't my favorite option. Two, I could give an effort to snuggle, which I kept for further examination. Three…I could kiss him and hope he doesn't scream. Well, now or never.

And suddenly, I found myself inhabiting my lips on his, and noticing that they were a little chapped, but still as soft as one would think. I mean, we _are_ in jail. He didn't scream, but he squeaked a protest, which I ignored slightly. And while it was the first time I had kissed a man, it wasn't the first time I had kissed anyone, and I tenderly probed his lips encouragingly. I could tell he really wasn't amused, and firmly held the fact in his head.

But once I growled, hoping the menace would shut his inhibitions up, he responded, and I pulled off when I felt my point was concreted. We laid in a shy hush for a few minutes, both wishing this was some delusion from being cooped up for so long, before I spoke.

"So…when comes the prison sex?" and he gave a dismayed huff, blushing again and kneeing me in the crotch. Wheezing out 'douche bag' in between snorts of pain, he smirked with a sarcastic apology.

Neither of us slept on the floor again.


End file.
